Rudy had been arrested after Annie’s identity had been confirmed and he’d confessed that he had found Annie soon after Kate had beaten her so badly. He’d not called the cops but had taken her back to his bar and nursed her. He admitted that he’d always loved her and had wanted her for himself.
Annie had never really recovered from her head injury. Her memories had been destroyed and her thoughts never able to focus again. But Rudy had resolved to take care of her. For weeks he’d kept her in the second floor of his bar, tending her as cops and patrons flooded the downstairs bar.
When KC came into Rudy’s all those years ago, unburdening himself with the details of the Dawson case, he’d never realized Rudy had known all along where Annie could be found. As the weeks passed Annie started to improve some. She would never be the same but now was a little harder to handle. With cops refusing to let go of the case, he’d feared it was a matter of time before Annie was found. Rudy realized he needed a body to get the police to stop searching. He’d found the body of a dead prostitute who resembled Annie in height and stature. He’d beaten the body postmortem, removed the head and hands and left it in the woods dressed in Annie’s bloodied clothes and necklace. When he was sure the remains could not be identified, he’d called in the tip.
Kate had believed Gary had guessed her terrible secret and that he had taken Annie’s body and hidden it to protect her. When the remains had been found, she’d feared for him so she’d hidden the tire iron in Jeb’s car, found Max and given him the tip. The discovery of the body and the tire iron had ensured Jeb’s conviction.
Rachel’s thoughts skittered to Luke, whose nagging voice had been silent for weeks. Maybe he was at peace now? Maybe she could live a more normal life.
Let me go. I am free.
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I hope so.”
“Hope what?” Deke asked as he came around the car.
She swiped away a tear. “Just talking to myself.”
Deke leaned against the car on her good side, so close his shoulder brushed hers. For a moment the two just stood close, absorbing each other’s energy. “You must be proud.”
Rachel rarely celebrated victories. There’d just never seemed to be enough time for accolades. But not this time. This time, she would celebrate. “Sometimes, life tosses out a real special moment. As rare as a blue moon, they do happen.”
Deke faced her, wedging her body between his body and the car. “Only on blue moons?”
The heat of his body warmed her. “It’s not like I said never.”
He traced her jaw with his finger. “Blue moons come every two or three years. I’m thinking we can do better than that.”
They’d been seeing each other for weeks. No promises of forever. No lifetime plans. Just fun and a gradual peeling away of all their protective layers. It would take time. But it seemed there was no real rush. “Maybe a little bit more often than that.”
Deke laughed and skimmed his hand up over her hip and cupped her waist. “I’m thinking there could be many great moments.”
She cocked a brow. “Sounds a bit like a commitment. I thought we weren’t doing that.”
Smiling, he kissed her. “Don’t look so rattled, Wainwright.”
Rachel wrapped her good arm around his neck. It felt so good to hold him close. “You can’t rattle me, Detective.”
“Ah, that’s what I like about you, Rachel. Always a challenge.”
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Mary Burton’s next romantic-suspense thriller,
BE AFRAID,
coming in May 2015!
Monday, August 14, 4:30 AM
Nashville, Tennessee
Reason and Madness, like Jekyll and Hyde, were two sides of the same coin. One worshipped peace, the other devastation. One told the truth. The other, rule breaker and thief, always lied. Once again, a war raged between the two.
The cell phone on the granite kitchen counter buzzed with an incoming call. A glance at the display revealed Sister was calling again. This was her sixth call in the last two hours. Sister could see past the smiles and the assurances. She sensed when meds had been skipped and Madness regained control.
Ignoring the call, Madness reached for a half-full tumbler of whiskey and held it up, letting moonlight illuminate the honey brown liquid depths. A quick toss of the glass, and the whiskey slid down a parched throat, soothing tense muscles and pushing aside all thoughts of Sister’s call. It wouldn’t do for Sister to know about tonight’s endeavor. Tomorrow Sister would get a visit. There’d be lots of wide smiles and a box of her favorite chocolates gift-wrapped in a bright blue bow. Blue was her favorite color. They’d play the question and answer game for a time. She’d be satisfied and then shift talk to regrets and the what-should-have-beens.
Madness washed the glass in the sink, careful to dry it with a paper towel before replacing it in the cabinet. A few wipes of the cabinet knobs, the faucet, whiskey bottle, and the surrounding area erased all fingerprints. Some might consider the action overkill but attention to detail was key to a successful performance. Madness had learned well from Reason.
Down the dimly lit hallway carpeted in neutral beige, Madness admired the new coat of antique white paint. Fresh paint was a wonder. One swipe of the roller eradicated dirt, grime, and shadows of framed memories that no longer mattered.
A few more steps toward the master bedroom and the scent of paint gave way to the aroma of diesel fuel. This room—center stage for tonight’s performance—was painted a pale yellow with white trim. A tasteful landscape of the Smoky Mountains hung on the wall by the door, a gilded mirror topped an oak dresser displaying strategically placed crystal perfume bottles, a new hairbrush, and a tiny camera displaying a bright red RECORD light.
In the center of the room was a four-poster bed. On the bed lay a woman, the actress in this play. Her near naked body nested in twisted sheets damp with sweat and flecks of blood. Ropes lashed manicured hands, nails painted a soft pink, to the headboard and feet to the baseboard. A river of mascara-stained tears trailed down pale cheeks and duct tape–covered mouth.
Carved in the headboard above her was the word FAITHLESS. Madness thought it a fitting tribute to another woman, Sara, who’d plagued them during their youth.
As Madness approached the bed, green bloodshot eyes alert with panic darted from the man standing in the shadows back to Madness, the night’s true master. Her wide pleading gaze reflected panic and desperation. Good. She understood who was in charge.
The man in the shadows, Jonas Tuttle, stepped forward, his large, calloused hands wrapped tightly around the grip of a forty-five caliber handgun. Tall and broad-shouldered, he stood over six feet. A man’s man, some might say. But fear all but vibrated off every inch of his muscled body. “We’ve been waiting for you. I need you to tell me what to do next.”